


maybe (we meet again) someday

by swu



Series: Team Machine - The 100-verse AU [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - The 100 (TV) Fusion, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swu/pseuds/swu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe someday, when Samaritan wipes everyone out, they’ll meet. Maybe “someday” is 97 years after the AI Apocalypse, when the Ark crashes to Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe (we meet again) someday

“I can’t believe you got us into this mess,” Shaw spits at Reese, glaring at him from the opposite side of their underground cell. “We have no way out. No backup, no escape plan. And even if we got out of this hole, we’re still in the middle of Grounder territory, hours away from Camp Carter.”

“I had to do something, Shaw. We have to get him back.”

“…I know.”

…

The formidable bull of a woman standing before them, the Grounder Commander—Control, they called her?—drops a knife onto the concrete floor at the center of the cell.

“One of you will die here, today, by the other’s hand. I will negotiate the terms of hostage exchange with the one who lives.”

In unison, Reese and Shaw turn their heads toward the knife.

…

They’re left alone in the cell. Just the two of them, and a knife on the ground.

Well, the two of them, the knife, and a servant woman who sits quietly in the corner. Presumably she’s there to keep an eye on them and call for the Commander when they’ve gone through with it.

Sameen walks over and sits beside her. The woman is pale and slender; she looks almost fragile, small despite her height. The other Grounders shouldn’t have left her in here. She doesn’t deserve to be caught up in all this.

“What’s your name?” Sameen asks gently.

“My name is Root.”

“Root. I’m Sameen, and this is John.” Shaw’s voice is soft, as if Root were a deer who might spook if she speaks too loudly. “Your Commander spoke of an attack?”

“The man you came here to retrieve, this… Finch. He’s the one who sent fire into the sky three days ago, is he not?”

Shaw falters. “Y- uh- well, yes, but that wasn’t a _missile_ it was just a-a flare, a signal. There was no attack, not intentionally at least. It’s not Harold’s fault.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Root continues impassively. “The Commander thinks it is. One of you must pick up the knife. That is our way.”

“And if we refuse?” John asks.

Root looks not at John, but straight at Sameen. Their eyes lock and the momentary pause before Root answers seems to stretch indefinitely. “Then the Commander will use it to slit both of your throats.”

Shaw forces herself to look away from Root and her eyes meet John’s across the cell. They’ve both had the same training, and they’ve worked together long enough that they’ve almost become a single unit—the Mayhem Twins, the other members of the Ark Guard called them. The wordless exchange between them takes milliseconds.

Shaw casts her eyes downward for a heartbeat.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Reese grabs the knife from the center of the room and tosses it to Shaw, who pulls Root toward her by the wrist and has the knife at her neck before the other woman can even react. Sameen hoists Root to her feet more roughly than strictly necessary, until a yelp of surprise escapes Root’s throat. In a single motion Shaw’s pressed flush against Root’s back and has her in a headlock, knife still sharp against her throat.

Moments later, hurried footfalls echo down the stone hallway leading to their cell.

“Right on cue,” John mutters under his breath.

Flanked on either side by heavily armed soldiers, Control unlocks the cell door and wrenches it open. Once she crosses the threshold, though, she stops and simply stands there looking at Root, rigid in Shaw’s grip.

Something about it, the way Control is staring, rubs Shaw the wrong way. There’s something in the woman’s face she can’t quite read—concern? Hesitance? Fear? But Shaw shrugs it off. They need to get out of this dump. It’s time to finish this.

“Alright, here’s how it’s going to go,” Shaw says, voice even and low. “You’re gonna let us walk out of here, and you’re going to take us to where you’re keeping our friend. We leave, no one has to get hurt.” She presses the knife a little deeper into Root’s throat and feels her breath hitch in response. “We don’t want any more violence.” Root’s ribcage expands against hers.

Control doesn’t respond. She simply looks back to Root.

Sameen turns her head slightly and locks eyes with John. His lips are pressed firmly together, brow furrowed. He can feel it too. _What is the Commander waiting for?_

Suddenly, someone breaks the silence, but it’s not Control. Root’s voice is soft; Shaw’s forearm at her neck has her pulled backward uncomfortably because of the difference in their heights, but as she speaks, Root leans further into the grip until it almost seems like she’s whispering the words directly into Sameen’s ear.

Shaw can’t understand the Trigedasleng that comes out of Root’s mouth, but she knows a command when she hears one.

_**Let that one go. And their friend.** _

Root smiles.

_**This one’s mine.** _

…

Sameen comes to; blinking away the darkness from the edges of her vision, she finds she’s still in the cell, only now she’s alone.

And she’s hanging from the ceiling by her wrists, toes just brushing the ground.

“Good, you’re awake,” a cheerful voice chimes from behind her.

So not quite alone.

Shaw can’t seem to shake the fog from her mind. She has no idea how they got here—last thing she remembers she had Root in a headlock and now… the woman slowly circles around Shaw’s suspended body until they’re face-to-face. Only this woman? She can’t be Root.

Every ounce of fragility that had radiated from her before has been replaced with something sharp, predatory. Where once she looked thin and delicate, like she might break, now she looks like the razor edge of a blade.

“Sorry I had to do that, Sam.” Root doesn’t seem sorry at all. “It was just a mild poison—should have no lasting effects.”

Shaw doesn’t respond, still too stunned or too drugged to speak, she can’t really tell which.

“Now,” Root exhales sharply as she settles on her heels in front of Shaw. “Let’s get started.”

Something in Shaw stirs then—there’s something important she’s forgotten. “John,” she chokes out, barely managing to push the word through the cement of her tongue and lips.

Root cocks her head and smiles almost condescendingly. “Don’t worry, Sameen of the Sky People. Your friends are alive, and unharmed. Mostly. They were of no more use to me, so I let them go.”

“T-to you?” Sameen’s breathing quickens, still labored and shallow while her diaphragm slowly wakes. She stares at Root, unblinking, and through her wide eyes Root can see Shaw’s mind working frantically. Root waits in silence, amused, almost, until Shaw finally completes her thought.

“You’re the Commander.” It escapes from Shaw’s lips in a single exhale, like a breath she’d been holding in this whole time.

Root simply smiles again, and languorously closes the distance between them.

“Now, Sameen. Where were we?” They’re only inches apart now. “Right. I’m looking for something… very special. I’ve been looking for a long time. And when the Sky People fell to the ground, it was a sign. We called it Northern Lights. And I know that name means something to you.”

“Northern Lights?” Now that words are starting to come easier to Shaw, they’re tinged with anger and disbelief at the absurdity of all this—of this conversation, of the situation she’s somehow gotten herself stuck in, of Root. Shaw shakes her head almost imperceptibly. The woman’s insane. “It was… nothing. Just a military exercise, some footnote in the history books.”

Root laughs; it’s light and airy, but somehow cuts deep into Sameen’s gut.

“You really have no idea what you’re caught up in, do you? Who this world really belongs to? Do you really think that this is it, that this is all there is? You think that we survived the Apocalypse for _this_? To be locked up in a metal prison in the sky, or scrounge a meager existence on the ground like animals?” With that last word on her tongue, Root begins to unbutton Shaw’s shirt, pushing the collar open to expose more of her neck.

Their eyes are still locked together. Cool air hits Shaw’s exposed skin, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and she feels her flesh prickle.

“Do you really think this is about some petty war between the Trigedakru and the Sky People? ‘Blood must have blood’—squabbling over a few lives lost? You have no idea how small we really are.”

Root pauses to walk over to the wall and grab a torch from where it hangs.

“Then what was the point,” Shaw calls out, “of all this? The knife? ‘One of you will die by the other’s hand’? Was this ever about justice at all?”

Root stands frozen in front of the torch, back still turned, but Sameen can hear the smirk on her lips. “Please,” Root scoffs. “It was a test.”

“A test of what?”

Turning to face the room again, Root responds only with a slight tilt of her head as she eyes Shaw.

“Northern Lights,” she continues suddenly as she stalks back toward Shaw, torch in hand. “It meant something, before the world ended. It’s the key to finding something that was lost a long time ago. And that key is hidden somewhere in the memory of your people, in that—” she ghosts her thumb across Shaw’s forehead and then delicately tucks a lock of dark hair behind her ear “— _mind_. Whether you know it or not. So you’re going to help me.” She pauses then, fingertips lingering in Shaw’s hair.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Sameen of the Sky people. You’ve left quite an impression on me,” Root croons, “so I really don’t want to hurt you. I just need you to tell me what I want to know.”

Root raises the torch between them, smiling sweetly, as if she’s presenting Shaw with a bouquet of flowers rather than the business end of a firebrand. The flame flickers; it reflects off her eyes, wide and glistening, until her whole face seems alight with fervor.

 _When did she get so close?_ Sameen wonders. She can see the thin red line on Root’s neck where she’d held the knife against her. Tiny beads of blood have dried along the cut. A smirk pulls at the corner of Shaw’s mouth. She knows she hadn’t pressed hard enough to break skin.

“One thing they probably _didn’t_ tell you about me…  I kind of enjoy this sort of thing.”

At that, Root’s face cracks into a Cheshire grin, the hunger in her eyes spreading until Shaw can almost feel it against her skin, burning hotter than the flames that lick her collarbone.

“I am so glad you said that.” Root responds, voice dripping. “I do too.”


End file.
